


Damage

by RottenFruitz



Category: Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye
Genre: brief description of gore, just a bit of neck squeezing, nothing too horrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27379141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RottenFruitz/pseuds/RottenFruitz
Summary: Chase is damaged. He really wishes he wasn't.
Kudos: 6





	Damage

**Author's Note:**

> This should also be up on my Tumblr (fruitycasket) sometime after this is posted. Look for it under my #fanfic tag!

At first, the banging was easy to ignore.

Chase had heard it all before, after all.

The screaming, the crying, the pleading. He had learned to tune it out.

But this was different.

This banging, it was silent.

Jameson didn’t scream or cry when he banged on the door to his prison or fruitlessly pulled at his chains.

He couldn’t speak. All he could do was bang.

Bang.

Bang.

_ Bang. _

It’s driving Chase crazy.

And there’s not much he can do about it.

He’s trapped!

Trapped between a rock and a hard place lined with razor sharp teeth that will rip him a hundred fresh, bleeding assholes if he steps out of line.

But he can’t let the banging go on. Not while he knows who’s doing it.

It’s at its worst at night.

Chase tosses and turns well into midnight, unable to drown out the sound of fists banging on solid wood, of chains rattling; he imagines Jameson with bloodshot eyes and bloodied fists, his hair sticking to sweat-soaked skin as tears run down his face.

And then, in the morning, and two more times during lunch and dinner, he has to  _ feed _ Jameson.

When Chase first started feeding him, Jameson looked at him with wide eyes as he entered, his expression a mix of hope and fear. He was desperate, then, tugging on Chase’s shirt, pleading for him to help, to  _ do _ something.

Chase would do his best to placate his friend, trying to assure him it would be okay, trying to get him to stop fussing too much just in case the demon caught wind of it and got annoyed. 

He did his best.

He really did.

His best efforts just weren’t enough.

Anti stepped in.

_ “You need to discipline him, Chase. A little beating never hurt anyone, I certainly know it didn’t hurt you,” _ the demon had said, his voice cool and gentle, like he wasn’t suggesting Chase  _ beat _ one of his best friends,  _ “Otherwise, he might try to run, and if that happens… well, I’ll have to take care of him, won’t I?” _

Chase had refused.

He couldn’t do that. He  _ wouldn’t _ . He had been getting desensitized to the shitty, fucked up things that went on when he was around Anti for too long, he wanted to put a stop to it. He  _ still _ wants to put a stop to it. Somehow.

But Jameson had been carrying on that day, and Chase couldn’t quiet him down, and Anti was coming down the hall…

He panicked.

Chase still remembers the sharp  _ crack _ Jameson’s head made when it hit the corner of his bed, the silent scream that came from his mouth as he writhed on the floor in pain, the way Anti looked at him from the doorway, in that way fathers do when they’re thinking,  _ “That’s my boy! I’m so proud of him.” _

Jameson doesn’t plead much anymore.

When Chase comes to feed him, he’s usually on his bed, curled up with his back to the door. Now, when he looks at Chase, it's a sorrowful look rife with the dull terror of a man having to confront his mortality in the most horrifying way possible. He only accepts his food sometimes, other times he has to sit there, spoon-feeding him like he’s a baby. Chase feels like he should say something, like he should apologize or explain himself, but he gets the feeling Jameson would rather not hear any of it.

The silence is painfully deafening.

When Chase leaves, Anti is usually somewhere nearby with that stupid  _ “I’m so proud of you, son,” _ look on his face.

_ It’s disgusting. _

It makes Chase feel disgusting.

Whenever Anti does it, he imagines Jackie and Henrik and Marvin, looking at him, their eyes wide with horror. He imagines Jackie’s pupils constricting in that way they do, when he’s about to kill a particularly heinous criminal.

He wishes Jackie was here to kill him.

He  _ wishes _ Jackie would put one hand around his neck and squeeze until gore oozed out, and his spine splintered like a group of tightly bundled toothpicks caving under the might of a hammer—although he suspects at that point he’d already be dead, and Jackie would have stopped. (He was never a fan of unnecessary violence.)

Chase can’t run from it anymore.

Anti’s done his damage, and  _ god damn _ he’s done it well.

When he shoved Jameson back then, he didn’t flinch because of what he’d done.

The sound and the sight of it, it hadn’t phased him.

He flinched because of the look Jameson gave him right after, the look of pure terror one gives to someone who’s changed beyond recognition.

How had he looked to Jameson, then?

Had his eyes been dead and dull? Had they been cruel and savage?

Had he seen a carbon copy of Anti, sneering down at him?

Chase is too afraid to look in the mirror and find out.

Chase jumps a little as heavy footsteps move past the door to his room. For a moment, he takes care to guard his mind; he hides the self-loathing and incoming thoughts of disobedience as best he can until the footsteps are gone.

Once the sound gives way to silence, Chase takes a breath and lets himself think freely again. He doesn’t want to see Jameson hurt. He never wanted to see anyone hurt.

But what can he do?

Chase’s heart thumps against his ribcage hard enough to shatter the bone. If it goes on any longer it just might, but he can’t control it. Even  _ thinking _ this could send Anti into a rage, break the demon’s cool demeanor in an instant.

But he can’t stop himself. He’s already made up his mind.

_ I won't let Anti hurt my friend. _

_ I won't. _

_ I’ll set him free, if I have to. _


End file.
